Mosaic
by jsandoz
Summary: The missing moments of how it all began has been told countless times. Here's just one more. Post-Committed and post-Grave Danger.
1. White Lie

**AN: I own nothing.**

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She had just climbed out of the shower when she heard the knock at the door. "One minute," she called, and then dried off and scrambled into jeans and a t-shirt. She didn't really know who to expect when she looked through the peephole, but it certainly wasn't the person she saw.

***

He tried to rest when he got home, but all he could see was white. White walls. White hands. White pottery pressed to the white skin of her neck as he waited for the white to be replaced by red. Even her voice had seemed white. White and brittle. Even hours later, it had seemed that if he touched her, just lightly, she would shatter like a frozen flower dropped on concrete.

'She said she was fine,' he reminded himself. 'She won't thank you for bothering her when she would rather be alone.'

'She always says that,' he argued. 'Sara would say she was fine if she had both of her legs chopped off. That doesn't mean she's telling the truth.'

He slammed both fists into the mattress but it did nothing to stop the flow of images. He remembered her arms silhouetted against the barred window and then wrapped tightly around her, as if she were trying to hold herself in one piece. He remembered the last time her smile had been as white and brittle as she was that day. He remembered that he had gone to her door that day, and she had let him in.

***

She undid the locks and opened the door. "Grissom?"

"Hi," he said, offering her a shadow of a smile.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out.

"I-I wanted to— I came to see if you're ok."

One of her eyebrows went up, but she stepped aside to let him in. He breathed an internal sigh of relief. She faced him after closing the door. The brittleness in her frame was somewhat mitigated by the frown on her forehead.

"You came to see if I am ok," she stated. Her face was unreadable but he though that she placed slight emphasis on the words 'you' and 'I'.

"Yes."

"You?" she questioned sharply, but then her face softened and she continued before he could respond. "Griss…you look like you've been dragged through hell behind an oxcart."

Her unusual imagery startled a laugh out of him. "These past few days have seemed something like that, but I've felt worse than I do right now, and far worse than being dragged through hell, is having to live there."

Her eyes widened when she caught his meaning and she tensed and looked away. "Sara…"

She shook her head violently and avoided his eyes. "I'm fine."

"I don't believe that."

"Sounds like a personal problem," she shot back. Her voice made him think of hollow eggshells.

He took a step closer and rested a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and continued to stare determinedly away. The muscles in her jaw fluttered with tension. He thought of butterflies spiraling higher and higher.

"It's ok to let another person help you sometimes. There's nothing wrong with needing that."

She laughed bitterly. "Every time you accept help from another person, you give them one more weapon to use against you when the time comes."

"And you believe that I would do that to you? You really think that I would hurt you in that way Sara?"

She finally met his eyes and he held perfectly still as she considered his question. Something seemed to relax slightly and she looked down. "No," she said quietly, "Not in that way, no."

He let his hand fall from her shoulder to her side and then pulled her to him. He hadn't missed the qualification that she had made, but he filed it away to be examined later.

He hadn't realized just how tense she was until he was holding her flush against him. Her whole body was shaking, too slightly to see, but enough to feel. A moment passed and then she returned the embrace.

***

He held her silently, listening as her breathing became normal and the shaking eased, then stopped. She no longer felt as if she would break. She hugged him for a moment longer before pulling away. She smiled at him, a little ruefully, but closer to her normal smile. "Thanks. I think I needed that," she admitted.

He returned her smile. "I think we both did."

An awkward silence descended on them and they both shifted from foot to foot, neither one knowing what to do. Sara broke the silence by walking away from him and sitting on the couch. "Well," she said brightly, "you've done your duty. Now you can go home and sleep soundly, knowing that."

"Sleep soundly?" he asked skeptically. Even now, he wouldn't be sleeping soundly for days.

She shrugged. "Or you could stay here and keep me company. I know I won't be able to sleep at all for a while."

"I'd like that," he stated honestly. She patted the cushion next to her and he walked over to accept the invitation.

She never meant to fall asleep. She hadn't thought it was possible, but they talked a lot and laughed a little and before she knew it, she was relaxed and the needs of a body that hadn't had a proper rest in days took over.

***

She was trapped! He had her pinned and he was going to—but she couldn't let him! "No!" she yelled and shoved herself away from whatever was holding her down. She stumbled and nearly fell, taking several steps backward to catch her balance. Disoriented, she scanned the room for threats, but found none. Instead, she saw a very surprised Gil Grissom sitting on her couch.

By the look of him, he had been asleep too, until a moment ago. They must have moved closer together in their sleep. It had been his arm around her that she had thought was a danger. She swallowed over a lump in her throat. "Shit," she whispered, "sorry."

He stood and tugged his shirt straight. "Bad dream?"

"The variations are endless, but I'm sorry…"

"It's ok, understandable." He looked at her clock and she noted with surprise that she had slept longer just then than she had in the past three days combined. "I'd better go home and get ready before shift starts."

"Yeah."

"You need to take a day or two off—"

She cut him off "To sit at home and go crazy? No way. I'll be there."


	2. Blue Whale Blood

**AN: Set post-Grave Danger. I asked if I could borrow just Greg for a day, but they said no…**

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Ecklie informed them on no uncertain terms that day shift would be processing, so not knowing what else to do, the three of them headed back to the lab. Sara drove and it was a silent ride. All of them were exhausted, covered in dirt, and completely emotionally drained. In the backseat, Greg appeared to be falling asleep against the window.

When they reached the parking lot, Greg shook himself alert, assured them that he would be fine when they questioned his ability to drive safely and headed for home. As Greg was pulling out of the parking lot, Grissom's phone rang, causing both of them to jump. "It's Catherine." He flipped it open. "How is he?"

Sara waited, each second of the maddeningly one-sided adding to her impatience for information about the state of her friend. "Alright Cath," he was saying, "I'll pass that on." He finally ended the call.

"He's going to be ok," he told her, knowing the most necessary question. "He's sleeping and his parents are with him. Other visitors are allowed tomorrow."

"Ok," she said. "I'll see you then I guess."

"Yes. Goodnight Sara."

"Goodnight."

She was halfway to her car when he called after her. "Sara!" She stopped and waited for him to catch up. "I—I think I have some frozen leftovers that are vegetarian. You could—that is, we could—while the adrenaline is wearing off."

She didn't point out that it was perhaps the strangest request for dinner that she had ever received. Instead, she echoed the words he had used not long before. "I'd like that."

***

Nerves didn't catch up to her until they reached his door. "Um, you know, I really need a shower. Maybe I should go home and come back."

She expected him to say ok. She half expected him to say that maybe it wasn't a good idea after all and they should call it off. What he said was "I may act like an ogre sometimes but I do wash on occasion. You can use mine." She followed him inside before she could change her mind.

He showed her the bathroom and then backed out, mumbling something about other clothes. She had only just worked herself up to getting undressed when he knocked on the door. She jumped and then cursed as she hopped on one foot and tried to untangle her jeans from her other leg.

"Are you alright?" he called.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just ah, if you could leave them outside the door…"

"Yes, ok. I think these will fit well enough. I'll just leave them right here." She listened to his retreating footsteps with her cheek pressed against the cool tile.

The hot shower worked wonders however and when she stepped out into the hall clad in flannel pants with the drawstring tied tight and a sweatshirt that reached her thighs, she felt only mildly silly instead of being paralyzed with nerves.

***

His back was to her when she entered and he stood perfectly still with his shoulders too high.

"Grissom?"

"I wasn't sure how much you wanted." He gestured at the frozen lasagna on the counter. His voice was too even and he still had his back to her. "I didn't know what dressing to use." She noted a bowl of salad next to the lasagna. He turned around. "Sara! I don't even know what you would want to drink!"

She made her voice as calm as possible to counteract the panic in his. "And that's ok. But to answer your questions, any portion is fine. I'm not afraid to ask for seconds. I like Italian. Ice water would be wonderful." When he still looked ready to spring away, she changed her tactic. "I'll tell you what. Since you've left it at a point which my cooking abilities can pick up from, you go get cleaned up and I'll finished." She anticipated his protest and added, "Yes, I'm sure."

***

They made it through dinner and dishes without another lock-up and went back to the couch. It seemed perfectly natural for her to rest her head on his shoulder while they were talking and the logical next move was for him to put his arm around her. He didn't. But he didn't push her off, and that was something, she noted. What he did do occurred about a half hour later.

They were discussing an old lecture that they both had attended before she came to Vegas when, without changing his voice at all, he shifted away from her and pulled her with him until he was lying back on the couch with her on top of him.

She realized that she had stopped breathing when he asked her what she had thought about something and she had no air to respond with. She filled her lungs and replied with what she hoped was calm equal to his. As if they did the impossible every day.

***

She was swimming against the current. The blood rushing past her told her that she was going in the right direction. The great pulses of the huge heart would almost send her backwards, deep into the body, but she was an arrow in the blood, small, fast and strong. Each press of blood over her back was like a caress.

The artery grew so wide that she didn't even brush the walls with her strokes. She knew that she had to be getting close. The heartbeat grew ever louder and stronger, but it was always to her right. The tunnel turned and turned right, but the beat was always louder in her right ear. She inhaled the warm blood. It filled her mouth and throat and exited through the gills on her neck, leaving oxygen behind. 'I'm sorry,' she thought to the whale whose circulatory system she occupied. 'I don't mean to be a parasite.'

"I don't mind," the great heart seemed to say. "I have plenty and you are small."

She became aware of another rushing sound that was not blood. It was slower than the pulse of the heart. A few strokes later, she realized that it was breathing. And it was to her right, with the heart, which though she turned and turned, she could not find. She wondered if whales always breathed so much. She hadn't thought that they would, but she was only very small. She wondered if their hearts were always so far away. She could feel the whale's breath against her hair. She shifted to feel it on her face and just when she realized that this shouldn't be possible, the heartbeat disappeared.

The rhythmic rush of blood over her back stopped and the sound of the lungs became faint. She realized that she had closed her eyes against the flow and that there was a gentle but very real pressure against her back. She wondered confusedly if the whale had died somehow. It had seemed so alive and the thought of it dying presented an agony that she vaguely realized was wildly disproportionate to the situation. She opened her eyes—

—and found herself looking into another pair that were very blue, very human, and very much alive.

She pushed herself up and off, but there was nowhere to go but down. She landed on the floor with a thud. Moments later, the eyes appeared over the edge of the couch and she was able to register that the face that held them belonged to Grissom. She felt a flush rise in her cheeks as she closed her eyes in embarrassment. Once was bad enough, but to do this twice…

"Are you ok?" he asked.

It helped a little that he sounded worried rather than accusatory. Concerned, she corrected herself. Grissom doesn't worry. She smiled inwardly and that gave her the courage to open her eyes.

"Did you hit your head?" He was sitting up and with their relative positions as they were, he loomed over her.

"No." She sat up, shrugged her shoulders, twisted, made sure everything was ok. "No permanent damage." She stood up. "I'm sorry. I really don't mean to do that every time. It's just…"

"Instinct?" he supplied, rising as well. She shrugged and fixed her eyes on his collar. When he spoke again his voice was lower and very gentle. "That was better than the first time, and we can always try again."

Her head jerked up in surprise and she stared him full in the face. He rested a warm hand on her shoulder and continued as if her reaction wasn't out of the ordinary.

"Several years ago, you asked me to sleep with you. Does the offer still stand?"

She knew that there was something she was supposed to say, but her mind had been wiped blank by shock. She wondered, if her mind were a little machine, would Grissom be able to hear the clicks as the gears slipped over each other without turning?

When she failed to respond, he swallowed and continued. "I guess what I'm really asking is, am I too late?"

"No," she said, too sharply because his hand jerked on her shoulder and stayed tense. "No," she repeated, more quietly. It was suddenly very important that he understood exactly what she had meant in her anger two years before. "When I said that you could be too late, I was referring to one of us being dead. As long as we're both alive, you can't be too late."

His eyes widened and she knew what he had heard her say, what she had very nearly echoed. 'As long as we're both alive.' She could hear the echo too. 'As long as you both shall live.'

"Oh." That was all he could manage, 'But then,' he thought, 'she has just told you that she will want you—always want you—until death. What is there to say that amounts to any more than 'oh'?'

"The thing is—" she began, not looking at him. "Well, I'm sure you've noticed I'm not exactly the soundest of sleepers…I—"

"Sara."

Something in the way he said it made her look up. He smiled faintly and took her hand in both of his.

"If getting a full night's sleep were the most important thing to me right now, I wouldn't have asked you to come."

Her lips quirked up. "Oh."

Still holding her hand, he led her down the hall to his bedroom where he flicked the light on. It was similar to the rest of his living space: sparse and functional with an appreciation of things well made, as evidenced by the wooden shelves and bed frame. The dark bed seemed to loom at her and she resisted the urge to babble, settling for sweeping her eyes over the room and categorizing everything she saw.

He watched her investigation as intently as she scoured the room with her own eyes. "Do you want to call it?" His voice was teasing, but his face was serious.

She cocked her head at him and said carefully, "I would call it an accurate representation of the habits and tastes of its occupant, to the best of my knowledge."

"That's very…diplomatic of you."

"It's a skill that possesses me on occasion." The silence thickened around them and she wondered why it had to be so complicated. Sleep was simple enough; they did it every day, almost. And yet—to take the first step toward the bed—it felt impossible. Instead, she asked the first thing that came to mind. "I usually sleep shirtless. Would it be ok with you if I…" She tugged at the hem of her shirt.

"No." His voice sounded only slightly strangled, "Just do whatever you would normally do."

Thinking that if he knew what she would normally do with this time not on call if she were alone he never would have said what he did, she pulled her shirt over her head in one swift movement. His eyes widened and then he flushed and looked away.

"Grissom."

"Yes?"

His eyes were closed and the look on his face was very familiar, and yet, formed by his features as it was, completely alien. She couldn't place it. She briefly considered forcing the situation. He had, after all, been the one who made the request. Now she was the one standing shirtless and alone in the middle of his room while he was refusing to look at her. His expression clicked into place. It was the expression that someone wore when they were holding back tears. Her anger melted. Before he could realize she had moved, she darted over to the light switch—

—and flicked it off. "It's ok." She heard him release his held breath. "Some of us are afraid of the light as much as the dark. It's ok."

She felt his fingers skate down her arm until they found her hand and she shivered despite their warmth. "Criminalists afraid of the light?"

"Criminalists who work graveyard. It isn't too much of a stretch." They were working their way toward the bed. Sara felt her knees brush the quilt and then he was pulling it back and the bed shifted as he climbed up around her and tugged her hand, inviting her to follow.

When she slipped beneath the sheets, the blanket of darkness made it easy for him to pull her up against him so that her back rested against his chest. "Sleep well," he whispered and she smiled as his warm breath brushed the back of her neck.

***

Unlike the previous two times, when Sara awoke, she knew exactly where she was. Judging by his slow, even breathing, he was still asleep. She let go of his hand and rolled over carefully within the loose circle of his arm. She was greeted with open eyes.

"Hey." His whisper was slightly husky with sleep.

She brought her hand to rest between them and he laced his fingers with hers. "Hey." She had not dreamed. Even more unusual was that she had slept after a strenuous case and not had a single nightmare. She took a moment to order her thoughts before she began.

"Given the situation we're in," she gestured over the bed with their linked hands, "this might seem like a strange request."

Curiosity made him look more awake and he squeezed her hand. "It would be very easy, very natural, to just dive in to—to everything." She felt her thighs tighten automatically. "But I was thinking, it might be nice to take our time, with some things. I know that for me, it's going to take a little while to get used to not being angry with you all the time, or frustrated."

"Not frustrated?" he teased.

She matched his grin. "Well maybe, but it's the promise of fulfillment that makes all the difference."

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**Author's note the second: I apologize leaving this story as incomplete for so long. As I was trying to write chapter three I realized that this story should be as close to canon as possible, which wouldn't happen if I tried to continue my conjecture beyond this point.**


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